


Close Quarters

by TobuIshi



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crush, F/M, Friendship, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobuIshi/pseuds/TobuIshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vincent is an expert at staying out of the thick of battle.  Yuffie, on the other hand, has a few things left to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Quarters

Melee combat is not Yuffie's oeuvre. As a nimble ninja princess, she is supposed to be the fleeting shadow at the periphery of battle, the swift strike from behind, the gigantic mother of a shuriken sticking out of your neck before you know what's hit you.

This is why it completely sucks to be ambushed and surrounded by a pack of roaring, clawing bandersnatches.

Tifa is having a great time suckerpunching giant slavering carnivores in the face, since it's pretty much what she does for fun in her free time anyway, and Cloud is scything them down like wheat, but Yuffie is at a major disadvantage, too crowded up against everyone else to throw anything but a tantrum, and is mostly shrieking "Dammit, dammit, dammit" like a broken klaxon and hacking wildly with Conformer at any bandersnatch that gets within reach.

Most of them whimper and back off when she puts a notch in their snouts, and Yuffie is starting to feel like maybe she can handle this CQC thing when a particularly big bandersnatch decides it would rather get pissed and takes a well-aimed swipe at her bare belly. Yuffie flinches one leg up and its claws rake her thigh instead, which is admittedly better than spooling her guts out all over her shoes, but she still gasps and swears like Cid on a Sunday, doubling over to clutch at the wound with her free hand. It's torn up but good, right through her shorts, which are rapidly turning a color that isn't khaki.

_Dammit!_ she shrieks in her head, somewhere under the cacophony of howling and snarling monsters--

A blotch of red swirls through the chaos like blood sluicing down the drain, and Yuffie is snatched out of the melee like a mouse in the claws of an owl.

"Vincent!" she screams as the world blurs around them, clutching frantically at the steely arms that hold her. She is jealous of actual mice; actual owls have the sense to remain vertical when they fly. Being carried by Vincent is like riding the Infernal Gyroscope at Gold Saucer.

And before she can figure out which way is up, he has set her down again on a narrow, wobbly surface. It's a branch. They're in a tree. A _tree_, with the battle boiling forty feet below them. Yuffie gulps and flings her arms wide like a tightrope dancer, barely maintaining her balance. Her torn muscles burn like Fire3.

"Uh, Vince?" she manages. "I realize that where you're concerned, safety is a relative term--"

Vincent's fingers curl into the waistband of her shorts. (Vince's fingers curl into the waistband of her shorts! The entire howling world obligingly slows down as Yuffie ponders the magnificent and earth-shattering reality of Vincent Valentine's fingertips brushing the hem of her panties.)

And then she realizes that he's got a potion bottle in his other hand and is ripping the stopper out with his teeth, and before she can flinch away, he has yanked out a gap between her clothing and the skin of her stomach and dumped the entire potion down her pants.

"Auckgh!" Yuffie shrieks, wriggling away like a cat in the bath. "_Geez_, Vince! Can't I just drink it?!"

"Direct application is more effective," he says, only half paying attention anymore. He's already turned back to the battle, slamming another clip of ammunition into the Death Penalty and lining it up at arms' length to pick off a few more beasts with clinical accuracy.

Yuffie knows he's right, but she still pouts. "...didn't have to dump it down my underpants," she grumbles.

The sodden, dripping fabric is holding the potion against the wound beautifully, and she can already feel the tingle of torn skin knitting together. Still. Her shorts were ruined anyway, but every body part under their jurisdiction will be sticky and reeking of sickly-sweet potion until her next chance at a bath.

...then again. Forty feet up a tree is a pretty good vantage point. And come to think of it, Vincent's a long-range man himself. Yuffie grins up at him, all seven solemn black-clad feet of him, and gives Conformer a thoughtful heft.

"Hey, um...thanks for the lift, Vince," she admits. "I owe you one." She cannot resist adding, "Oh, and I owe you a potion down those fancy pants of yours, too."

Vincent grunts, sighting down the barrel. Either he isn't listening, or he figures the fact that his pants are pretty much sewn on will counter her ninja wiles.

Yuffie allows herself a little smirk as she lets her weapon fly. It cuts down three monsters in a tidy arc and wings a fourth before humming back up into the treetops; Yuffie catches it on the backspin, and drops into a crouch, humming happily to herself as she picks out her next targets. Vincent obligingly finishes off the injured bandersnatch without saying a word.

_Y'know, if you don't count our massive, raging dysfunction,_ Yuffie thinks to herself, cheerfully devoting an unoccupied fragment of her attention span to schemes involving jumping Vincent with a handful of potions on a dark night, _we make a pretty good team._


End file.
